Title: DepartureAuthor: Ariane DeVereWord count: 221Rating: PGDisclaimer: Sherlock belongs to way more powerful and wealthy people than me.

As is becoming our tradition, when the gang (this time comprising myself, verityburns, anarion, atlinmerrick, and Stacey Albright) gets together we have a habit of writing fic. This time we were too busy running around during the weekend of the Sherlock meet-up at the Prince Charles Cinema to sit down and write together, but five stories on a similar topic were nevertheless the order of the day and we’re finally getting round to posting them. They’re not connected in any other way than the simple prompt, “Train journey.”

Links to the other four stories are at the end.

Departure

“I can’t afford London on an Army pension.”

“Ah, and you couldn’t bear to be anywhere else.”

John still clearly remembered the words. All he had wanted was to stay in the city and not to have to go somewhere that had no meaning. After the bullet destroyed his career, London was the only constant; without it he would have nothing.

And just in time, there was Sherlock, and John’s life was worthwhile again. More than just a flatmate to share the rent, more than a distraction from the psychosomatic pain, more than a life-saver, more than a reason to live. Sherlock – that crazy, reckless, dangerous lunatic – had brought purpose, joy and meaning to John’s world and made life worth living.

But then Sherlock fell, and London meant nothing. Life meant nothing. Without him, there wasn’t anything to look forward to, no reason to get up in the morning, no reason to exist. The pain was constant and absolute.

John paused on the platform, his suitcase heavy in his hand. He had a momentary urge to look behind him, but there was nothing for him there. He stepped onto the train and didn’t look back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

In his pocket, the email message which he hadn’t dared switch off still glowed clearly on his phone.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?”

Follow the attached instructions.

BELIEVE.

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The obligatory 221B Author’s Note: Wow, I feel really out of practice. It’s only the beginning of October since I last wrote something but it feels like so much longer. However, a couple of weekends ago Verity, Anarion and Atlin, looking for a distraction during the journey to London, each wrote a 221B relating to trains while they were on their way down to stay with me before we all piled into town to meet up with Stacey for the Sherlock cinema event. Afterwards, Verity was gracious enough to invite me and Stacey to join in and write our own train-related 221Bs, and then we began the obligatory, “Well, when’s the best time for you to post?” conversation that always precedes us posting stuff simultaneously!

I can’t thank Stacey enough for the snuggling and comfort in the taxi after, despite me wearing an “Outed by Pandas” T-shirt (in honour of MirithGriffin’s fabulous XO) and a name badge, I got stupidly tearful when I couldn’t help feeling like the bridesmaid when it was Atlin, Verity and Anarion who – deservedly – had people running over to them all day to give recognition, attention and admiring praise. Thanks, Stace!

And this morning I found I have tickets to the Cabin Pressure recording on the 16th of December! (There may have been some inappropriate whooping and dancing around the office building.)

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And the other stories are here:

Massive drumroll – the world premiere of fic written by the hilarious and talented Staceuo: Bubbly on the Orient ExpressWoo-hoo! Welcome to fanficdom, sweetie!

John! He emailed you! That's gotta be love, right there. Usually he prefers to text.

This is a quiet, subtle piece. You convey beautifully that the only light in John's life is the glow from Sherlock's email on his phone. It's deeply touching that your John doesn't dare turn the machine off ("You machine!"), for fear that his best friend -- and you somehow convey with only eight words that that's who it is -- will disappear.

"London meant nothing. Life meant nothing." This reminds me of Samuel Johnson's "When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life." Johnson is one of those rare people with whom Holmes, who usually fancies himself incomparable, compares himself in the books, as when he describes Watson as his Boswell. Niiiiice. It's a great allusion.

Like the set designer for Baker Street, you pack so much into a small space. Two 221Bs! Good God, I wouldn't be able to write a single one, and you can do two before breakfast. Clever girl!

I was totally blown away that you made up that shirt. Please accept all my recognition, attention, and admiring praise. You are completely badass and not to be trifled with.

Can we count on more of your stellar reporting from the trenches at the Cabin Pressure recording next month? Hope so.

Gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. Love that John just gets up and goes. I would like a sequel to this as well. Why must you be so talented? This has such a lovely, hopeful tone to it. Love that he didn't dare to switch off the email, don't want to lose that! Perfect.

As is becoming our tradition, when the gang (this time comprising myself, verityburns, anarion, atlinmerrick, and Stacey Albright) gets together we have a habit of writing fic.Well, if you must. *sighs* I'll read it, because I'm a very polite person.

there was Sherlock, and John’s life was worthwhile again.I love that! My head-canon in a nutshell.

More than just a flatmate to share the rent, more than a distraction from the psychosomatic pain, more than a life-saver, more than a reason to live. Sherlock – that crazy, reckless, dangerous lunatic – had brought purpose, joy and meaning to John’s world and made life worth living.Gosh. I think it's not slash. Dammit.

But then Sherlock fell, and London meant nothing.Gosh! It's angst!! Dammit!!!

“Afghanistan or Iraq?”Follow the attached instructions.BELIEVE.Squeeeeeeeee! I couldn't ask for a better ending! Who cares about not slash or angst, it's perfect! :D I love that John hasn't dared to switch off the message, as if he couldn't quite believe this is real. And now the lines just before, about John on the platform, have a quite different meaning. You clever girl! (Yes, I said the same to Verity. It's not my fault if you two are clever, right?)

*reads the AN*Oh, Ariane! Let me give you a virtual hug and assure you that if I had been there you'd have had your share of recognition, attention and admiring praise, you deserve them too! Look, you defeated your writer's block and you gave us another terrific story. You're a great writer! Aaand you're going to see Benedict in less than a month, you super lucky girl. Cheer up! :-)